"Delightful. Absolutely," she dutifully repeated.
"You know, next year I'm going in drag too and wearing a bikini," said Vaughan. "Get a long blond wig. Come as Pamela Anderson."
"We'll all look forward to that," I said, keeping my face straight. "Maybe you could consider shaving first? Full body wax?"
Rosie snorted. "You definitely should. Natasha can do it for you."
"I have many male clients." Natasha grabbed another cider. "Be happy to help you."
"Thank you. But not a chance," said Vaughan. "Wax scares me. If Eric can get away with Wednesday Addams with stubble, then you can all just deal with me in my natural glory."
"By the way, Pamela Anderson wore a one-piece on Baywatch. Not a bikini," said Rosie, passing the man a beer.
"Thanks," he said. "Is a one-piece comfortable?"
"Probably more likely to give you a wedgie."
Natasha nodded. "God knows what it would do to the rest of your goods."
"Damn," said Vaughan. "Might have to give it some thought."
"Wear a dress," I suggested, doing a twirl. "Skirts are cool."
"Good idea. I better circulate and find Andre before he tries to climb onto the coffee table and sing 'Hound Dog' again. Later." Vaughan disappeared off into the crowd.
As per usual, the kitchen remained prime real estate with people constantly coming and going. Rosie might be keen on setting me up with a friend, but she stayed close, keeping an eye on things, making sure I behaved. She and Nell too, bless them both for their confidence in me. Nell's bump had been dressed up as the Death Star. Which meant Pat must be the Darth Vader hanging with Joe in the living room.
Nell's reaction upon hearing about me taking a break from sex had been about the same as Rosie's. In fact, she'd almost fallen over, she'd been laughing so hard. I was a little worried she'd go into early labor. Still, the lack of faith was about what I'd expected. Since one article I'd read on the web suggested reclaiming your chastity could be a purifying experience, it gave me plenty of extra incentive to just stay the hell away from the woman. I didn't need that kind of negativity in my new, purer, temporarily celibate life.
I didn't feel any more enlightened--yet. Surely that would come.
Meanwhile, Natasha and I chatted, standing in an out-of-the-way corner. Mostly we talked about the recent change of premises and expansion at her business. The woman had a sharp mind to go along with her beautiful body. I could learn a lot from her. Back when we first opened the Dive Bar a few years ago, I didn't know shit about running a business. Nice to know I could appear halfway intelligent on the subject now. Or I knew when to nod, at least.
Another drink went by and we were standing close, speaking in low voices. Everything looked good, from the way she kept placing her hand on my arm to the warmth in her eyes.
"I don't believe you." A familiar laugh filled the air and my head shot up. Jean. She entered the kitchen with Andre hot on her heels.
"It's true," he said. "I met the king."
"You must have been like two years old."
"Younger. He made a huge impression on me, changed my whole life."
"Oh, obviously." Jean paused briefly when she spotted me. Her bump had been transformed into a colorful goldfish bowl care of the print on her T-shirt. She even had sparkly themed hairclips. One was a fish, another some shiny green weed, and the last one a little plastic castle. "Eric. Hi."
"E." Andre gave me a slap on the arm. "Looking good. Very pretty."
I smiled. "Those are some serious big-ass sunglasses, man."
"The king doesn't mess around when it comes to eyewear." He held out his hand to Natasha. "Hello, I don't believe we've met. I'm Andre."
"Natasha." She gave it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you."
"Natasha is a friend of Rosie's," I supplied. "And Natasha, this is our neighbor, Jean. We all live in the Bird Building above the bar."
Jean murmured hello.
"Well now, don't you look nice," I said. "Very fishy. But like, in the right way. Not slimy fishy. Or suspiciously fish. Glamorous fishy."
Her smile widened. "Thanks. I dig your hair."
I turned my head so my braids swung about. "Getting a lot of compliments about the 'do. Think I'll have to wear it like this more often."
"Anyway ... I was just going to grab myself a juice."
"I can get that for you."
"No, I don't want to interrupt," she said, the smile slipping from her face. "You and Natasha were talking."
"It's fine." Getting drinks was my thing, after all.
With an army of red Solo cups waiting on the counter and the fridge fully stocked, I handed her a drink in no time. Andre and Natasha started chatting. Talking about town, their favorite Frida Kahlo paintings, shit like that. The man was being his usual super-smooth and friendly self. He pretty much had the market cornered on nice guy vibes. His boyfriend-material ranking had to be pushing eleven. It normally would have bothered me, but the strain in Jean's smile worried me more.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. Couldn't be better." She took a sip of her drink. "How have you been?"
"Busy, you know."
"Right."
"Yeah, really busy. Work and stuff."
"Okay. I'd wondered if you'd been away or something," she said. "I hadn't seen you around..."
"What, you think I've been hiding from you or something?" I laughed a little too loudly. Shit. "Anyway, how are you? You've been good?" Dammit. I'd already asked that.
"Sure. Very good."
I nodded.
"So, aren't you going to tell me I look like I swallowed Saturn or something?"
"Certainly not," I protested. "The Atlantic maybe, but not Saturn. It wouldn't fit the fish theme you've got going on."
"He better not say anything," said Andre, rejoining the conversation. "You look absolutely wonderful. Glowing and then some."
My friend needed to go away. But the look Jean gave him in response to his compliment was more sibling style than anything. Not romantic. Or at least, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. It better not be. For heaven's sake, the woman had enough on her plate without Andre trying to suck up and get into her pants. Because of course my concern was solely about her.
"Of course she looks wonderful," I muttered. "I wasn't going to say anything like that."
"When are you due?" asked Natasha, bypassing the weirdness.
"Another month." Jean sighed. "I can't wait."
"Make sure you put your feet up and get lots of sleep while you can. My sister, Isla, had her first almost six months ago," said Natasha. "I don't think she's had a minute's rest since."
Jean's eyes brightened. "Congratulations on becoming an auntie."
"Thanks." Natasha slipped a cell out of her pocket and pulled up a picture of a cute little kid with jelly or something smeared over his face. "His name is Henry."
"How sweet."
"Only a month to go. Wow," she said, her gaze taking in Jean and Andre. The cell disappeared back into her pocket. "You both must be so excited."
Andre's mouth opened, but Jean got there first. "No. We're not together. I'm going to be a single parent."
"You're doing it alone?" Natasha's eyes widened. "I hope you have lots of help."
"I'll be fine."
"Fine? Forget that. You'll be great." I grabbed a ghost-shaped cookie off a plate on the counter and took a bite.
"I guess so." Natasha did not look convinced. "But Isla has her wife, who is very supportive, and they're still struggling. Henry has trouble settling at night and some days it seems like he cries nonstop. There's nothing wrong with him, he's a perfectly normal baby. They were just totally unprepared for the amount of work involved. And the lack of sleep."
I gulped down some beer, watching Jean out of the corner of my eye.
"Honestly, I don't know how they stay sane," she continued. "Isla said she went three days without a shower, just because she couldn't find the time and energy. It kind of restores
my faith in humanity that so many people get through it, raise emotionally and physically healthy children, and actually go back for more."
"Oh, I agree. It's big, having a baby, becoming a parent." Jean stroked her belly. "Huge, really. But I'm looking forward to it."
"You'll be fine," I said.
"You're braver than me." Andre pretended to shiver. "My cousin got ripped apart down there having her two. For some reason she felt the need to tell me about it in gory detail."
Jesus. "Real sensitive, man. Also, you don't have a vagina so I think you're pretty safe."
His gaze darted to Jean, remorse filling his eyes. "Shit. Sorry."
"No problem." Jean shrugged. "Everyone has stories. I've heard lots of them."
"My sister said once you've got your baby in your arms, you don't even remember all that," said Natasha. "But still, go for the epidural. She said it made all the difference."
Jean took a sip of juice, apparently unperturbed. "Oh, I'm planning a natural birth. Drug-free."
"Seriously?"
"I've done a lot of research and I think it's the best option for me and my baby."
The whites of Natasha's eyes were like twin moons. "You are brave. I'd be yelling for painkillers as soon as the first contraction hit. Actually forget that, I'd book a nice neat cesarean."
A trace of a frown creased Jean's brow. "I think recovering from surgery and dealing with a newborn would be extraordinarily difficult."
"My mom would help," said Natasha.
"Yeah, but that's precious bonding time you're giving up with your baby."
"I'll make it up later. Better that than the alternative."
Jean raised her brows and shoulders. "Everyone needs to decide what's best for themselves. It's great that we've got options these days, right?"
"Right," I interjected.
"Absolutely," said Natasha. "But you don't want to be too set in your decision-making. That's where Isla went wrong. Their whole plan went out the window. Like someone had just tossed a grenade into their life."
A tinge of doubt crept into Jean's frown. Dammit.
"Not that I'm planning on having children anytime soon," said Natasha, shaking it off. "I've got other things I want to do with my life."
Again with that not-quite-right smile from Jean.
"Anyway," I said, leaning back against the counter. "Enough about babies. Why don't we talk about something--"
"Personally, I think drugs are your friend," said Andre, wiping sweat from his brow. Even the Elvis hairdo seemed to be wilting thanks to the heat from his polyester suit.
And honestly, I could hit something. How often did Jean have to put up with having everyone's opinion shoved down her throat?
"Drugs are not always your friend," I said. "This wisdom comes care of years of experience behind a bar. What kind of dumbass talk is that?"
"All right," he amended. "In some situations they are definitely your friend. I mean, babies are tiny. But still, when you think of where they have to exit..."
"Again with you not having a vagina or a clue."
Andre chuckled. "And you have these things?"
"Is the costume confusing you? How much have you had to drink exactly, man?"
"Relax, Eric," said Jean in a low voice, giving my hand a quick squeeze. "It's fine."
Andre gave me a look like "what the fuck is your problem." Idiot. A muscle in my jaw had started to tic, and my eyes could not possibly have been friendly in return. It's not easy to pull off an intimidating glare when you're dressed like Wednesday Addams, but I'm pretty sure I managed it.
"I'm going to get some fresh air," said Andre, grabbing his drink off the counter.
Natasha perked up. Her gaze might have flicked to Jean squeezing my hand. "I'll come too."
"Great."
Off they went together, Andre and my supposed date and yet another might-have-been future girlfriend. Terrific.
Meanwhile, Jean just looked at me.
Next she attempted a smile. "That was a little awkward."
"People and their fucking opinions," I grumbled. "I'm so sorry about that crap they said. Maybe I should go have a word with Andre."
"No, don't say anything. They didn't mean any harm. And it's not your fault." She sighed, short fingernails tapping a hectic beat against her side. "Really, you don't need to defend me. I'm fine."
"I know, but--"
"I'm fine."
"But--"
"Eric."
Okay, so she didn't want me to try and fix it. Anything I said at this point would probably be wrong, so I drank my beer. And Nell said I never learned anything.
"I can be a bit of a control freak, so what?" She shrugged. "No one thinks it's weird to be meticulous about your finances, but invest time and energy into seriously planning the delivery of your child--one of the biggest events in your life--and people think you're crazy."
I kept my mouth shut.
"If they'd really bothered me, though, I'd have shut it down or walked away. But at least they weren't rude about it," she said, staring off at nothing. "Anyway, it kind of comes with the territory. You know, I've had complete strangers stop me at the grocery store to lecture me about things or try to feel up my bump."
"Jesus."
"I realize most people don't mean any harm. But even so." She shook her head. "I don't know what it is about pregnancy that makes everyone lose their minds and think they need to get involved. Well, not everyone. Some people."
I frowned, highly pissed off on her behalf.
"But Andre and Natasha were just..."
"Speaking out of their asses?"
She snorted. "A little. Maybe. Yeah."
"Don't know why the concept of you making up your own mind about things is so damn hard," I said. "Idiots."
Jean ducked her head, but not fast enough to hide a grin.
What a win, I'd made her smile! Immediately, my shoulders started relaxing, the anger easing back. Around us the party kept on keeping on, music blaring and people chatting. Given that I hadn't come tonight with any expectation of hooking up with anyone, I hadn't lost anything. Though Natasha was a nice-looking woman. I couldn't help wondering what she'd have been like in bed. Bossy, probably. Which could be fun for a while.
"Why don't you go talk to her?" asked Jean.
"Hmm?"
"Natasha. Go talk to her," she repeated. "You know, before Andre and I came over, you two looked cozy."
"Nuh. I'm good right here."
She cocked her head, eyes amused. "What, you're going to waste the party hanging with the grumpy, hugely pregnant female all night?"
"Yeah, I am. If she'll let me."
"Seriously?" Little lines appeared between her brows. "I can go chat with Nell. Because I'm warning you, watching me knock back juices in between running to the bathroom to deal with my thimble-sized bladder is going to get boring."
"Boring? You kidding me? We just nearly got into a knockdown fight," I said, wiping imaginary sweat off my brow. "God knows what could happen next. If someone gets in your way when you're rushing to go pee, there'll be rock and roll wrestling in the hallway or something."
"Yes, I can totally see that happening."
"My money's on you, of course."
"Damn right it is." She cradled her belly with one hand. "You're a good friend and a good man, Eric Collins."
"Uh ... I don't know about that." I tugged on one of my braids, then winced. "You haven't been in town long."
"Shut up. I'm paying you a compliment."
"Yeah. Okay." Maybe she was right. I had been pretty restrained when it came to thinking R-rated thoughts about the woman. Guess that was sort of a start on my path to manly betterment? I don't know.
"Anyway," she said. "Don't argue with me. I'm pregnant, I know things. Mostly about leaking bodily fluids and strange internal happenings. But I know other things as well."
"Whatever you say." I tapped my beer against her glass of juice. The faint curl of her lips held all
of its usual appeal. Christ, if only she wasn't knocked up. And if I'd wished for that once, I'd wished for it a hundred times. "Happy Halloween, Jean."
"Happy Halloween, Eric."
CHAPTER SIX
It was about twelve o'clock on a Wednesday night, a few weeks after Halloween. I finished locking up the Dive Bar. With Nell off sick with a bad cold, I'd had a busy couple of days. I stayed back to catch up on the inventory and a few other jobs. Having the place all to myself sometimes was good. The bar had its own feel after closing time, with only the quiet shadows and the glimmering steel to keep me company. But I'd run out of tasks, and was facing up to the short walk home and the nightly battle to get some sleep. I didn't know what was wrong with my head lately.
Maybe I'd wind up watching late-night TV with Jean or something.
After Halloween, I'd given up avoiding the woman. Especially since her pacing the hallway and my recent insomnia often seemed to happen around the same time. A few nights now we'd wound up chatting or even hanging out for a while. Though the last time it'd happened, she'd made me chamomile tea. And it tasted like shit.
I smiled at the memory, humming a tune. A bit of Bowie, because Bowie was king despite being from England. As I switched off the last of the lights, the bar area still gleamed in the low light, polished and ready for tomorrow.
Snow drifted down as it had been doing on and off for the last week or so. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, hunching down to protect myself against the cold. Keys jangled, hitting the pavement. Someone standing down the street a little started swearing up a storm.
"Jean, that you?"
Bundled up in gloves, scarf, woolen hat, and a thick jacket, she stood beside her SUV, glaring at the offending key fob lying on the ground. With her belly plus all of that padding, her chances of easily retrieving it had to be nil to none.
"Let me." I jogged over and picked them up, handing them back to her.
"Thank you."
"Everything okay?"
Her face looked pale and drawn in the street lighting, her hand rubbing at her lower back. "Yeah."
"Yeah as in no?"
She started to smile, then winced. "I've had this pain in my back all day and it's getting worse. Think I might go get checked out just in case."
My blood turned to ice.
"Don't freak," she chided. "It's probably nothing."
"If it was nothing, you wouldn't look so worried and you sure as hell wouldn't be out here at this time of night."
"It's too early for it to be anything. I've still got over three weeks to go."